


Sunday Morning Newspapers

by mitochondriencocktail



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, a lot of introspection from richard's pov, based on a tweet tbh, it's a kiss, quiet musings, richard vs sleep deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11595141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondriencocktail/pseuds/mitochondriencocktail
Summary: Based on a tweet that went like--ME: I'm off to that meetingBOSS: Aren't you forgetting something?ME: Yes! [kisses boss gently on forehead]BOSS: I meant your pen [whispers] but thank youExcept it's a little different and a lot more..... uh...... introspection. I don't know my dudes I'm bad at summaries.





	Sunday Morning Newspapers

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hi. I'm very sleepy. Here's smth I doodled up. Any and all feedback warms the cockles of my heart, and I hope you enjoy.

There were associations Richard had with certain actions that, until he was responding, he didn’t realize he had. It was automatic the way his body reacted and learned, absorbing information without him giving a second glance; shifting over at the kitchen counter when he heard soft leather footsteps over his shoulder, making room for two. Moving the plastic honey bear towards the front of the cabinet whenever someone carelessly let it fall towards the back. Sliding off one side of his chunky over-sized headphones when he saw a tall, lanky form enter the room in his peripheral— an ear open for listening, just in case. 

It was gradual in its dawning, and when it finally did surface from the depths of his subconscious, Richard didn’t quite know what to make of it. So he did what he did best with his emotions and made nothing of it. 

He let the instantaneous occurrences pile up like unread Sunday newspapers, glancing maybe occasionally at the headline, before letting it slip into the oblivion of his mind. Was that a dog barking outside? Had he put new sheets on his bed? Wasn’t there something that Dinesh told him about the new code to check out? 

He burrowed into the mundanity of his existence. 

His reactions became actions in that he was aware of them now, but stopping would seem too strange, too forced. Too unpleasant for some reason that, when he ruminated a beat too long on, would leave a taste of burnt brownies and stomach acid in his mouth. The last time he experienced that combination had been college, years ago now, when he’d flubbed spectacularly and been left standing, alone, outside a buzzing neon diner for two hours. 

He still wasn’t quite sure why he stayed that long. Denial, perhaps, fueled by embarrassment. The lengths the human mind was willing to go to dredge up delusion were truly phenomenal. 

But something Richard would learn, rather painfully, was that the more one went out of their way to indulge in delusion, the stronger the slap of reality would retaliate. And so it was in between shoulders bumping, hands brushing, and knees touching that it all began to percolate like a fine cup of morning coffee; the sweet aroma was to be assumed and expected, unquestioned in its presence, but the effects were immediate in whetting that appetite that could only be satisfied by finally reaching for a mug and drinking it deeply and warmly.

Richard being, well, Richard, of course spilled the metaphorical coffee all over himself before even taking a single sip.

It’d been in the false security of the early afternoon. He was running on maybe four hours of sleep, and the computer screen was beginning to blur in front of him. He wasn’t even working on anything at this point, just browsing through old Reddit threads and switching between the same six tabs. Sleep cried out to him, but that last Red Bull was still working its sinister caffeinated way through his bloodstream.

Footsteps echoed in his peripheral and shook his vision. A hand placed itself on his shoulder, and then the body it was attached to sat down next to him, close and steady. An anchor amid his exhausted trembling. 

“Richard,” Jared spoke. “Richard, you should go to bed.”

He mumbled something back. Words tasted like lead on his tongue and fell with an even heavier weight onto the floor. Jared moved closer and scooped up his words like pebbles in a pond. His arm rested tangibly against Richard’s.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jared said, a small laugh trickling out. “I have to head out to help Muriel with something, but I want you to get into bed first, okay?” Their knees bumped. Richard leaned into it, slouching limblessly like a shadow until he was fully covering Jared.

“Okay,” he uttered. If Jared was telling him to go to bed, he would. He rose from his chair with graceless abandon; alert, but unaware. His body was reacting. 

Two stumbling steps and then he stopped at, “Richard, aren’t you forgetting something?”

He stood unmoving for a beat, then another. His brain ached and the room tilted if he didn’t blink, like a horrible funhouse mirror full of distortion and delusion. And then he blinked again and it stopped dead in its tracks.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, and in one fluid motion, he swung around. With an unsteady hand and clumsy determination, he gripped the back of Jared’s neck and pulled him in close enough to plant a kiss on Jared’s forehead. His body instinctively moved much in the same way the gears of a machine do— separate parts all working together. He inhaled deeply at the scent of Jared’s cologne and shampoo and sweat; played with the soft baby hairs at the nape of his neck; hummed with drowsy content when neither of them immediately moved.

And then Jared was speaking. Richard was reacting.

“I meant your laptop,” Jared finally said, still quiet, still unmoving.

Richard snapped into existence with the force of a rubber band stretched to its full capacity. He fumbled over his own feet and started to pull away, but a hand caught his wrist. They stared at one another, and now a dog really was barking. Richard remembered he did in fact need to change his sheets. There was something about the new code Dinesh had told him to check out. All those Sunday papers he’d left unread on his table were now lining the walls and floors of his mind.

“But thank you,” Jared said, though it was more of a breath, an exhalation of brimming euphoria, and in a brief, terrifying moment, Richard realized he felt it too. It wasn’t buried, it really never had been, but it had remained quietly in the background, ignored but not neglected. A houseplant that had grown on its own with only the attentions of sunlight and occasional dribbles of water.

Richard made an effort to move, to act. 

He let himself stay caught in Jared’s hand and smiled.


End file.
